


The Herald of Blood, Lyrium, and Banners

by Exposedma



Series: The Herald of... [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exposedma/pseuds/Exposedma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea of Isabel becoming a Templar is literally making Cullen sick.  He cares for her, far more then he realizes and while he wants to be supportive he can't figure out how, not in this.  Not when he knows all too well the cost of going down that path.  She says she's made no decision as to what specialty she will pursue, but he can't shake the dread in his gut that she too will be made a slave to Lyrium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Herald of Blood, Lyrium, and Banners

**Author's Note:**

> This took entirely too long to write, I’m still not sure I’m happy with it or the characterization and pacing, but I’m done working on it. As a Warrior you can discuss the possibility of taking the Templar path, and Cullen has some choice words about it. In my play through I hit this conversation right before I took the option to start the romance, I had originally intended for it to happen after, but I like it better this way. Let me know what you think, I am so torn on this piece and feedback would be most welcome.

Their private sparring matches became far less private as time wore on, Blackwall, Cassandra, and The Iron Bull started challenging the Inquisitor and Commander in turn, and Isabel was growing accustomed to the eyes on her. She was making far fewer mistakes, although she still cursed and blushed if she was bested in front of the recruits. The better she got to know her comrades, friends, the more at ease she became as a whole. She was still quiet, preferring to watch and listen to the banter then participate but she was no longer thrown off by crowds of followers, the people she inspired. One thing in particular Cullen noticed was her smile, and how often it was seen around the keep, how easily it graced her when she was in the company of her companions. Her laughter was subtle, a soft chuckle, and easily missed if you weren’t looking at her and the way her mouth crooked up unevenly or the way her pale eyes danced, her nose would scrunch before she would cover part of her face in her hands and look away. Cullen was finding himself wanting to stop that hand, if only because her happiness was always so fleeting, a flash of light in the madness of the world. Never mind how it made his stomach flip or how the breath was driven from his lungs when she would glance at him in her mirth, as if sharing an additional private joke at the expense of the others. 

She was facing off against Iron Bull with a two handed great sword, trying to diversify her skill set. Ever since the combat specialists had arrived at Skyhold Isabel was driven. Most warriors, like Cullen, had been trained from a young age. Isabel was by all intents and purposes a late bloomer, they were very near the same age, however the inquisitor had only started her training at the age of nineteen, she was determined not to let her late start stop her, and relished the thought of taking on a specialty. He leaned against the training circle, wiping his brow. He was out of his armor, a simple, albeit sweat stained cotton shirt, the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, if his sister could see him, she would probably tell him how much he looked like their father, a farier by trade. He made a mental note to write to Mia before the day was through.

“Well fought, Commander.” Blackwall came to stand beside him, giving a small nod before turning his attention to the Qunari and the Inquisitor.

“And you, Blackwall, it was a hard win.” Cullen wiped the sweat at the back of his neck.

“We can’t have our Commander going soft now can we.” The older man rumbled good naturedly. 

Isabel fell hard, Bull over taking her with his bulk, the wind was knocked out of her, and she raised her hand conceding defeat. She couldn’t rely on speed with the two handed weapons and she was still learning how to block without a shield. Bull held out a hand and pulled her back to her feet before slapping her hard on the back, driving the air from her lungs again. 

“I think I’m spent for the day.” Isabel walked from the ring towards the barrel of water, taking a long drink with the ladle before handing it off to Bull. 

“So, I hear you need to drink dragon’s blood for one of these specialties, you’re doing that one right? Let’s go and kill us a dragon and you can drink its blood, that is fucking bad ass, and did I mention hot as hell?” Bull handed her a rag to wipe off her sweat. 

“I told you I haven’t decided yet. I still have some reading to do.” She evaded the question, in truth she knew she wouldn’t choose to become a reaver, but she didn’t have the heart to let Bull know just yet. 

“Why do you need to read, you hit shit, shit dies, simple.” He shook his head at her as she made her way towards Cullen and Blackwall.

“Tell it to my trainers, Bull.” Isabel rolled her eyes. “Commander, a word?” The words were commanding but the tone inviting. Blackwall partnered up with Cassandra as the two of them left the sparring ring. 

“Yes, Inquisitor?” Cullen gave her a warm grin, the scar on his lip twitching up as he walked towards her.

She nodded towards the ramparts, her way of indicating the conversation was meant to be private, and it was. She did not want to have it. The last time the subject was broached the two of them had gotten into a heated argument, tones had remained civil but a coldness had entered into Cullens voice. The topic of Isabel possibly becoming a Templar touched a nerve in him, and he hadn’t been shy at showing his disdain for the idea. She supported, and even admired his choice to stop taking lyrium, but it had been his choice, and she resented the way he was resisting letting her make her own. Yet he was still the person she trusted the most in the Inquisition, she was slowly opening up to her other companions, but Cullen had been her first friend. She had revealed things to him that people outside her immediate family didn’t know, she had spoken truths that up until that point had only lived in her heart, things she had never spoken out loud until something in him compelled a confession. It spoke to his character that she had come to trust him, admire him, and even care for him. Yet on this subject he was maddeningly stubborn and obtuse, refusing to see her point of view. They reached the top of the stairs, looking out at the view before turning towards Cullen’s tower.

“I was wondering if you would lend me you Templar Libram? Ser wants me to read it before I make a philter, IF I make one.” She looked sidelong at him, she could see his jaw tense, the relaxed grin turned serious. He opened the door to his office, letting her pass before him. 

“I thought we decided the Templar path wasn’t for you.” He went to his desk leaning on it, watching her with a look of disappointment. 

“We? No Cullen, you decided the Templar path wasn’t for me.” Isabel was not going to be talked down to. 

“It isn’t! You would do yourself a disservice leashing yourself to that poison.” Cullen threw up his hands in exasperation. 

“You said yourself that we didn’t have enough Templars to protect the mages in the event of malificar or abominations, is it really so wrong of me to consider this path? I would keep this inquisition strong, and safe for all. Even if that means taking lyrium. Maker, Cullen, I haven’t even made a final decision yet, I would not jump in blind and ignorant. You know me!” Her voice raised an octave in her frustration; she raked her fingers through her hair. 

“Yes I know you, and that is exactly why I fear. I know exactly what it is you are willing to sacrifice, which is everything, and that is not acceptable, Isabel, you are too important to…the inquisition to be lost to a festering addiction. I am not prepared to sit idly by and let you throw yourself away needlessly.” He shouted the last part in the voice that made his enemies quake. His mouth snapped shut the second the words left him, regret at his raised voice, at his loss of composure, but not at his sentiment, he believed what he said whole heartedly. Still an apology was at the tip of his tongue, but his own stubborn pride prevented it from escaping. 

Isabel’s nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. “Commander, remember yourself.” They stared at each other across his desk, the air between them thick with tension. She shook her head and turned towards his door. “If you will not lend me your copy I’ll have Josephine requisition one for me. I shouldn’t have asked.” She should have known better, she had hoped his friendship would have been stronger, she wanted his perspective and guidance, she felt more comfortable asking him questions about the intricacies of Templar life then the evasive Ser. She slammed the door, not stifling the petty streak she had, she heard something fall from the force of it and smirked, before her lips fell into a grim line.

Cullen watched her leave, dread and bile sitting in his throat. He went to his bookshelf pulling out his copy of the Libram. He fell heavily into his chair rubbing the bridge of his nose, a headache building behind his eyes. The book was old and worn, the spine creased and cracked from years of use and study. He flipped through the pages, the passages that had spoken to him, and guided him the most underlined, notes hastily written in the inner seams. The book was his journey to manhood, it was his naïve ideals and crushing disappointment all in one. The order had lost its way, twisted by the very thing that gave them their power. He let the headache and the chills that came with his symptoms wash over him, taking deep breaths and waiting for the pain to pass, the bile remained in his throat no matter how many times he swallowed. He knew Isabel, and the champion’s path was one of glory, the Templars were warriors whose very essence was that of sacrifice, she was only now becoming comfortable fighting in front of a crowd, he did not see her becoming a Champion of acclaim, seeking out challengers. The thought of watching her light diminish as the lyrium took hold of her was enough for the bile to finally win. He wretched into his waste pail. 

She left for the Crestwood the following day, her requisition already en route to Skyhold, the damned tome would be waiting for her when she returned. It rained the entire week she and her team were in Ferelden, it matched the black mood she was in. Sera tried making a joke about a lovers spat and earned herself a glare that subdued the elf for the better part of their sojourn. She was grateful for Solas if for no other reason than his quiet demeanor. Blackwall was companionable and offered insights in techniques and elaborated what being a Champion meant that the Codex she had read failed to elaborate on. When they returned to Skyhold Sera called them all boring sticks in the mud. Isabel debriefed with her advisors, professional and cool when Cullen asked questions about what they had accomplished. Her Libram was waiting for her on her desk and she ran a hand over the ornate cover. She cracked the spine and started reading, not stopping until the dawn peaked over the mountains. A soft knock woke her, she was bent over her desk, her neck and spine bowed and stiff from how she fell asleep. 

“Come in.” She called out expecting one of the maid servants. Instead it was Cullen. He was holding a small wicker basket covered with napkins, but she knew the scent. 

“I brought a peace offering.” He held the basket up sheepishly. 

“Doughnuts?” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and gave him a crooked smile. He nodded, placing the basket on her desk. Not missing the fact that her bed was still pristinely made.  
Isabel lifted the napkin, revealing a fresh apple fritter, her favorite, and Cullen’s Libram. She stared at his copy of the book, worn and frayed, not nearly as ornate as her own copy. 

“I should have lent it to you when you asked.” He was looking away rubbing the back of his neck, “I should be more supportive, it’s difficult for me to accept this possibility. Forgive me.”

“Of course, Cullen.” She picked up the warm pastry, and looked up at him through her lashes. “I can hardly stay mad when you’ve brought me a peace doughnut.” She took a bite, ginning through her mouthful making Cullen chuckle.  
“If…if you have any questions for me, I would be glad to answer them for you.” He offered clearing his throat.

Isabel chewed thoughtfully, taking a seat on her divan patting the space beside her, inviting Cullen to join her. “The Libram doesn’t tell the whole truth does it? The words, stories, and directives are all very pious and heroic, makes it all sound rather romantic. I suspect a lovely piece of propaganda. What is taking Lyrium really like?” 

“It’s strange, the first time does feel like the stories in the book, it makes you feel powerful, like a sixth sense opens up and suddenly you can reach out and feel the magic around you, you can feel how deep a mages magic well is. And you can manipulate that magic, stop it, take away its potency.” He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax.

“But the longer you take it, it starts to call to you and there is a constant need for more, a preoccupation with when your next drought will be. Your mind dulls, you forget, but the lost memories aren’t important. Nothing is as important as that blue vial.” He swallows, and furrows his brow, looking at the floor, he steeples his fingers pressing the tips until they turn white. “It has been 268 days since my last drought, and everything I’ve done, and forgotten haunts me, I remember…and it…hurts, the need dogs at my heels, and I fear I will never truly escape it. It is the price paid for being a Templar.” 

Isabel watched his face as he spoke, at how hard it was for him to get the words out, at the anger and shame work over his features. She placed a hand on his forearm, and feels the cool plate armor under her hand, and she understands a little why he wears it all the time. Still his other hand, gloved but warm slides over hers, and they are both watching where they are joined. The silence stretched and the air was heavy and charged, both entirely aware of the distance between them, how simple it would be to lean over. Isabel licked her lips and Cullen sees the flash of pink from the corner of his eyes and he looks at her, the air dragging through his nose, he looks from lips to eyes with a silent question worn plainly on his face. He wants to kiss her, Isabel realizes, and Maker save her, she wants to kiss him back and the force of that realization sends a shock through her and her eyes widen. Her mouth opens and closes, and she can almost see her pulse it is beating so loudly in her head. 

“I…champion, I decided in Crestwood, that I was going to become a Champion, and not a Templar. Blackwall and I spoke about it at great length. He mentioned how becoming a Templar might cause the mages to lose faith in me, and the Inquisitions intentions, making me appear to take sides in the conflict. How I am already a figure head, and that becoming a Champion would only enhance that idea, that I do not fight for myself but for the Inquisition.” She was babbling, her voice an octave higher then it normally was. “He’s surprisingly politically minded for a Warden, but he has fair points. Symbols are important, and…” the corner of his lip was pulled up in a crooked smile, the side with the scar, and she’s fairly certain he was closer than he was a moment ago.

“I’m glad.” He mumbled softly, his nose brushed against hers, his lips so close to hers she could feel the warm breath along her cheek.

“Cullen.” His name more sigh the word.

“Your Worship? The door was open.” A messenger calls into the room from the landing. Cullen and Isabel snap apart, pulling hands away, both flushed.

“What is it?” She cleared her throat, her voice was shaking. The messenger’s boots climbed the steps and Cullen stood, walking a few paces, distancing himself from her, both of them acting like guilty teenagers. 

“Sister Lelianna and Lady Montilyet were wondering why you were late for… Oh Commander, I was to find you next. They are waiting in the war room, eager to begin the morning’s war council.” They saluted neatly at both of them. 

“Tell Lelianna, and Josephine we will be along presently. Thank you.” The messenger smiled and nodded his head before saluting Cullen again and leaving.

“We should…ah, go, yes?” Cullen ran a hand through his hair looking away then at her, the blush high on his cheeks. Isabel nodded, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. 

They walked in silence for a few steps, “Do you have time for a chess match this afternoon, Cullen?” She wondered, and as a way to fill the silence between them. 

“I’m sure I can find some time.” He swallowed.

“Good. You’re on, this time you’re not allowed to let me win, though, you’re my general, I expect a fight from you.” She swung the door to the throne room open.

“I never let you win.” He argued.

“Mmmmhmmmm” She looked at him skeptically.

“I don’t.” 

“Cullen, I’m terrible at that game, do you honestly think I believe that?” 

Something had to be done, Isabel decided as they argued, because the urge to kiss him hadn’t lessened at all.


End file.
